Joy
by blueXXphoenix
Summary: Kai has always despised Christmas, yet no one wondered why. One-shot.


Hello there

Hello there. Just a random one-shot I thought up about twenty minutes ago. Felt like I wanted to put it out there. Tell me what you think.

**Disclaimer: **Don't own. Never will. End of story.

**PS.** This is in Kai's POV.

**Warning: **Language from Kai.

**NOTE. **This story mentions Christmas and Hell. It's saying that parts of Christmas should go to Hell. In no way shape or form did I mean for this to offend anyone. I'm sorry if this does offend you. If you think it might upset you, **DO NOT** read this story. If you proceed and find it does offend you, do no get angry with me. I warned you.

&: To Hell with Joy &:

Cold. Bitter cold. Oh, how I despise it. Not cold itself, no. I actually don't mind being freezing. But cold can mean one of two things: no heater, or winter.

Of course, the cold can be optional. That's always a third meaning. But usually being cold isn't wanted, or is uncontrollable. Yes, my element is Fire, so I have a natural dislike for the cold. But my hate for the element runs much deeper than an opposing force.

Uncontrollable cold is usually brought by one thing: Winter: the wretched time of the year when, in my country, everything freezes over and dies. It's annoying and despicable.

Winter isn't like this everywhere. For some, it can mean only a chill, a cold breeze. Nothing freezes. Nothing dies. For others, there is the space in between, where things freeze and die, but it's not unbearably cold.

But here, snow falls and things freeze. The wind nips at people trying to get to work, their cars too cold to move, forcing them to walk instead. Most think of the snow as a joy. A pure, beautiful, natural art. Me? I think it just means that winter is back and there's nothing I can do about it.

But even still, I do not entirely despise winter. For there is something that lies within this season that I hate even more: Christmas, the most absurd, insane, cruelest holiday of the year; the holiday where everyone goes around singing carols and putting up decorations of lights and yard art.

I remember once, a while back, when a group of carolers came to my house. Upon opening the door, I was met with an onslaught of poorly sung Christmas songs. Irritated by their poor excuse of singing, I had grabbed a lit candle from inside my house and flung it at them. Their cries of shock and fear were much more musical to me than their songs. Since then, no one has come to sing me carols.

Another time, a beggar came, asking for a place to stay on Christmas Eve. Using the most colorful words I could come up with, I had quite plainly told the man to get off my doorstep. Why should I be bothered with his inability to keep a roof over his own head?

The year after the third world tourney, my teammates had come to 'celebrate' the holiday with me. I was pissed, to put it lightly. For two weeks I yelled at Tyson and Max as they desperately tried to decorate my house with their idiotic lights.

Finally, it had resulted in my shoving over the Christmas tree on Christmas day. The glass ornaments had fallen from the tree, smashing onto the ground in pieces. The star had flown straight across the room, shattering upon contact with the opposite wall.

I had stomped on all of the presents, even throwing some into the fire. My angry fit had finally convinced everyone that I didn't want any part of their stupid holiday. Max and Tyson had left with tears in their eyes, while Rei tried to reason with me. I shoved them all out, demanding they leave.

And yet, in all of my angry responses, no one has bothered to ask me the reason. No one has bothered to care enough to take a guess that maybe I'm not just an angry sourpuss. That maybe I do have a reason for my deep hatred. Yet, the answer is so simple: my memories.

When I was five, on Christmas Eve, three men in black suits had forced their way into my happy home. My mother had grabbed me and turned to run, my father trying to make them leave. Looking over my mother's shoulder, I watched in horror as a bullet tore through my father's skull, blood spewing everywhere.

A moment later, there was the second loud bang, and my mother fell to the floor, gasping. A large, bloody hole was in her chest, staining my shirt red as well. I had cried, begging them to wake. They didn't answer. A minute later, my evil grandfather had walked in, scooped me up, and took me away to a place I would soon come to call my Hell on earth.

The abbey was horrible on Christmas as well. Every Christmas day, we, the children, were allowed the day to play in the snow. We would run and laugh, enjoying our freedom. Yes, sounds like they treated us pretty fairly, doesn't it?

Well, as our day of freedom rolled on, others would come to the gate. Children, our age, carrying gifts they received from their parents. They were happy, like we were, but there was a very large difference between us. They were beyond the Gate.

They didn't have to train everyday like we did. They didn't have to fight for their food and earn their right to sleep that night. They weren't guinea pigs for experiments by scientist or punished by a sadistic bastard. No, they were truly free.

So, while we watched from our places behind the Gate, they received gifts. They got to dream of Santa landing on the roof, coming down the chimney, and leaving gifts for them. They were given that right, without trying to fight for it.

And all the while, we remained without gifts. Never once did we receive anything in return. We were always reminded that we weren't good enough, weren't good enough to get gifts from Santa. We were bad children that deserved to be punished.

This is why I despise Christmas. The joy everyone feels, receiving and giving gifts. The joy I was deprived from for ten years. The joy I didn't have the right to feel because I was _bad. _

Well you know what? That joy can go to hell, along with everything and everyone that took that joy from me. I don't want any part of it now. Why should I? All it's ever done is haunted me, given me something to hate.

So no, it's not the cold. It's not the bitter wind or the snow. It's not the freezing season of winter. It's not even the holiday spirit of Christmas Eve and Day. It's the joy that comes along with all of it. The joy that avoided me, just as I avoided it.

The joy that I think should go to hell.

&: End &:

Well? Random one-shot. Didn't really put much thought into it. So, tell me what you think. Just wanted to get it out of the way.

R&R.

--blueXXphoenix--


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